Bad Aim
by Cadet Deming
Summary: Clint Barton is recruited to work for a mysterious corporation called A.I.M, that may be more dangerous than it seems, while Tony Stark struggles to keep his company afloat. Includes Pepperony and characters from the comics. Espionage Thriller/Suspense/Comedy. A sequel to "Spying is the Loneliest Profession" but can stand on its own.
1. Chapter 1

Bad Aim Chapter 1

By: Cadet Deming

I don't own the rights to The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. This takes place in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, with characters and organizations from the comics. This is a sequel to my story "Spying is the Loneliest Profession," but it should stand on its own. Rated T for adult language, situations, and violence. Contains Hawkeye and Iron Man. Suspense/Espionage Thriller/Comedy

**New York City**

Clint "Hawkeye" Barton's stomach was in his throat. He wasn't afraid of being shot at, or hand-to-hand combat, or even being attacked by aliens. As he stood in the lobby of the A.I.M. Corporation, he faced one of his greatest fears: becoming a middle-management civilian.

He surveyed the lobby of his new employer. People scurried around in designer clothes and bright yellow uniforms that looked like protective gear from a Sci-Fi movie. They looked like bee-keeper costumes. He noted nobody smiled, but had looks of grim determination pasted on their faces. It reminded him of his bygone days as a SHIELD agent.

Clint approached the receptionist's desk. She didn't look old enough to drink. Her nametag identified her as: "Carmilla." She appeared engrossed in reading. He assumed it was a trashy magazine, but she was studying a biochemistry textbook.

He cast his shadow over her and said, "Hi, I'm Clint Barton, the new Director of Security. I'm here for my orientation."

She glanced up at him. "We know who you are. If you could please pass through the retinal scanner. You're already in the system."

Clint was a little taken aback that the company already had his eyeballs in their records, but it made sense. Loki had escaped from Asgard and blinded him in one of his acts of vengeance against the Avengers. A.I.M. had agreed to replace his eyesight with their technology, but the tradeoff was he had to come work for them.

Clint stared into the scanner, trying not to blink. He saw a brief flash of light and heard a click.

Carmilla handed him a pass. "Wear this at all times. You don't want to go anywhere here without ID. Paul Ebersol will give you your orientation. His lab is in Basement Level 3. Welcome to The Hive."

He turned away and heard her mutter, "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."

Clint remembered "The Hive" as being the name of the underground research complex in the Resident Evil zombie movie. The workers around him may as well have been the walking dead.

Clint pressed the elevator button. It scanned his fingerprint and blinked that he was a match. The place's security measures were even stricter than SHIELD's.

He entered the elevator, noting that it contained some unusual pipes and vents. He saw a camera on the ceiling. The carpet was green and gold, with a two-headed snake pattern. The music playing was in the Italian language.

The door opened and Clint walked through the basement. Screens gave warnings about temperature, radiation, and toxicity levels. The latter two put him even more on guard. He could smell a mixture of chemicals.

He reached the lab, marked with the nameplate "Paul "Fixer" Ebersol, Vice President of Research and Development." Fixer was hunched over repairing a piece of equipment. His bald head was covered by a metallic visor with red lenses.

He looked up and grinned broadly at Clint. His teeth were unnaturally white, like a game show host or Miss America contestant. Clint wondered how long it would be before Fixer asked if he could introduce him to Tony Stark.

Fixer said, "Welcome. How're my eyes doing?"

Technically speaking, since Fixer was the person who made the cybernetic eyes, they were technically his, but Clint wanted to set down some boundaries.

Clint said, "MY EYES are doing fine."

"Good, before anything else, you need to sign some paperwork."

Fixer handed him a stack of papers the size of a small dictionary. Clint thumbed through it and read out loud, "In the event of birth defects in any future children, I absolve A.I.M. of any responsibility?"

"Oh, that's standard operating procedure. Everyone signs. We need it for the vaccinations."

Fixer took out a hypodermic needle and some vials of medication.

Clint recoiled as his spine tingled. "I don't like needles. And my immunizations are up to date."

"You were the Avenger's archer, right? An arrow is just a giant needle."

Clint winced when he said "were." He had left SHIELD, but things were up in the air on whether he was still an Avenger or not.

Clint said, "Big difference. I like putting arrows in other people. I don't like other people putting arrows in me."

"Listen, if this bothers you that much, I'll give you an injection gun, and you can administer the doses yourself. This is a safety precaution. A.I.M. deals with a lot of cutting edge research, some more dangerous than others. This builds up your immunity. No one has died on us…in 256 days."

Clint frowned, but reluctantly agreed. He held the injection gun to his own neck and pulled the trigger.

Fixer asked, "Was that so bad?"

Clint rubbed his neck. "I'll tell you in the morning. What are you working on that's so dangerous?"

"We'll let you know when the time is right. Is there any chance you can introduce me to Tony Stark?"

**Stark Tower, New York**

Tony Stark was awakened by the sound of hammers and nails. He was exhausted, but as hyperactivity was his natural state, it didn't take much to rip him from sleep.

He reached through his Pratesi linen sheets and grabbed his girlfriend's shoulder. Pepper Potts stretched to face him. The sun illuminated the freckles across her nose. She groaned.

He asked, "Why are the workmen here so early?"

"They're supposed to come at nine."

Tony leaned over to look at his alarm clock. It was blinking 3:07 AM.

He sat up sharply. "The power went out. That's not supposed to happen. The power can't go out. It's Arc Reactor Technology. It's supposed to be limitless."

Pepper rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "Maybe a line got interrupted, or something overloaded."

"Maybe. I can't deal with maybe. Not when I have a board meeting in one week. Not when so much is at stake. Not when the whole company depends on this technology working."

"It's too early for me to tell if you're being a drama queen again or if this is serious. We'll have the engineers trace everything back."

"I'm not a drama queen." Tony said. "Drama princess maybe. Or drama duke. I like drama duke."

"Sounds like the name of a Great Dane."

Tony leapt out of bed. The coldness made him realize he was naked. Pepper tossed him a silk robe, embroidered with his monogram.

He walked to the window overlooking the Manhattan skyline. He had promised to use Arc Reactor Technology to power all of New York, if not the world. His mind started calculating the possibilities of the damage if the ART couldn't even power his own building.

**To be continued**


	2. Chapter 2

Bad Aim Chapter 2

By: Cadet Deming

I don't own the rights to The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for adult language, situations, and violence. Thank you so much to the people who read and review.

**A.I.M. Headquarters **

Paul "Fixer" Ebersol led Clint through the various departments. "Robotics is on the 1st floor. Computers are on the 2nd. Viruses are on the 3rd floor. Bacteria are on the 4th. Gamma Radiation is on the 5th…you want to avoid that one if you can."

Clint asked, "Which floor has the cafeteria?"

"It's with Bacteria. That way we only had to build one freezer."

"Are you serious?"

"No. I'm just screwing with the new guy. The cafeteria is on the top floor, along with the CEO. I'll introduce you to her. She's really…um…she's really…great!"

The elevator door opened with a muted beep. Fixer rapped on an imposing steel door. It swung inwards.

Fixer said, "Clint Barton, this is Dr. Monica Rappaccini, our Chief Executive Officer."

Monica stood up from her burnished metal desk. She had flowing black hair, so shiny it gleamed. Her complexion was a rich Mediterranean caramel shade. She looked surprisingly young for a CEO, but her hands gave away that she was nearing middle-age. Her fingernails were sharpened to blood red points.

He offered his hand to shake, but instead she grabbed his shoulders and air-kissed him on both of his cheeks. He could smell a grapefruit cologne or perfume on her neck, with something chemical underneath, as if she smelled like her own laboratory and was trying to cover the scent.

"Welcome Mr. Barton." she said, with an Italian lilt to her voice.

Clint wondered how long it would be before she asked if he could introduce her to Tony Stark.

He thanked her and surveyed the room. She had a Bachelor's degree from the Sorbonne in Paris and a PhD. in biochemistry from the University of Padua in Italy. The most prominent accolade on her walls was a nomination for the Nobel Prize in Science.

Green and yellow permeated the room, with a few dashes of crimson flowers and abstract paintings.

She said, "I just have a few quick questions for you. Your educational credentials were blank on your application. Where did you attend college?"

Clint tried not to squirm in his seat. Formal education was a sore point with him.

"I didn't. I never went," he said.

"Where did you graduate high school?"

"I had to drop out. I've trained with various militaries and with SHIELD for over a decade though."

He didn't feel comfortable explaining to this woman why he was forced to drop out.

She frowned down her nose at him. "We take education very seriously here. The Director of Security job description clearly states college is a requirement."

Fixer interjected, "Barton already quit his career with SHIELD to come work for us, and he volunteered for a dangerous eye surgery experiment. I don't have a degree either and you made an exception for me."

Her eyes shot daggers at Fixer as she said, "Once is an exception. Twice is setting a precedent. Do you know even know what a precedent is, Mr. Barton?"

A vein throbbed in Clint's forehead. He had his moments when he clashed with his old boss Nick Fury, but Fury was never condescending to him.

Clint said, "Yeah, I know what a precedent is. It's Latin for instances that may be used as an example in dealing with following similar instances. I'm autodidactic, which is Latin for self-taught. I may not have a fancy degree, but I have plenty of common sense and life experiences. And I did save the world as an Avenger. You're welcome for that."

Fixer grinned until Monica frowned at him.

"And another thing," Clint grabbed a pen from her desk and flung it through a rose in a vase 30 feet away from them. It split the rose in half.

He finished, "I have very, very, good aim."

He held his breath waiting for Monica's response. He didn't want to lose this job on his first day.

She asked, "When you were with SHIELD, did you have a license to kill?"

"Yes."

"Did that license to kill transfer with you?"

"Technically, no. But I can legally shoot in self-defense."

"Well, anything can be self-defense, from a certain point of view. Are you willing to share A.I.M.'s point of view?"

Clint hesitated, realizing what he was agreeing to. He'd killed plenty of mercenaries before, in cases that clearly weren't self-defense. His ego flared and wouldn't let him lose a job on the first day.

"I'll do whatever it takes, ma'am."

Her lips melted from a frown, to neutral, to the curve of a smile. "Very well then, Mr. Barton. I'll set a precedent with you. This job may seem simple on the surface, but it has a high mortality rate. You see, we deal in very powerful technology here. Of the world-changing kind. We've been having problems with break-ins. Not just petty thieves but high-end mercenaries. Your good aim may save your life, and my livelihood. It's been a pleasure meeting you."

She reached her hand out to shake this time, and he shook it. Her grip was firm and the look in her eyes was searching.

He turned to leave, but she said, "One more question."

He looked back at her.

She asked, "Could you put me in touch with Dr. Bruce Banner? I dated him in college and would love to catch up with him."

Clint was surprised. "I don't have any contact with him. Dr. Banner's whereabouts are classified."

She pouted. "That's too bad. I know someone who would love to meet him."

He left with Fixer. After the door was shut Clint said, "Thanks for sticking up for me back there."

"No problem. You seem like a good guy to have around."

"You get a finder's fee if I stay, don't you?"

"That too."

**Stark Tower**

When Tony was stressed out, he turned tone of two things: the bottle, or he went flying in his Iron Man suit. He looked at the suit, all gleaming red and gold and razor sharp technology. When he was in the sky, his problems seemed as distant as the ground beneath him.

He'd been turning to the bottle for far longer. It started when he got lonely from his parents ignoring him. He used to sneak drinks from his father's bar and replace them with water. Now he could afford his own beer company, although he preferred harder alcohol.

Tony wavered between flying and drinking. It was an incredibly bad idea to do both at the same time.

If he took the suit, his artificial intelligence JARVIS would be accessible, which meant he'd feel responsible for talking to "him" about the power glitches. A few shots of Chivas Regal could put off dealing with his problems just a little while longer.

He thought of what Pepper would want him to do: Grow up and deal with the issue. Tony sighed and walked to the platform that held his latest Iron Man updates. The machines screwed the exo-skeleton on to his body in mere moments.

The rockets in his feet activated and he flew out over Mid-Town Manhattan. It was daylight and the rush hour traffic was mostly gone, but the streets were still busy. New York was a city of walkers, subways, and cab rides, so it wasn't as gridlocked as his home in Malibu.

He said, "JARVIS, can you run a diagnostic test on the power outage?"

JARVIS replied, "I can run superficial preliminaries, but the engineers will have to do more extensive testing."

JARVIS spoke with a clipped British accent that made everything sound authoritative. Tony thought of the artificial intelligence as a friend, if that was possible.

Tony ordered, "Run preliminaries."

Lights flashed and charts moved across his viewing screen. He watched the numbers going up on the percentages completed.

He was so engrossed in the numbers he almost crashed into the Chrysler Building.

Tony said, "A little warning on my navigation."

"I'm sorry, sir. I thought you were paying attention."

"You know I have the attention span of a Cocker Spaniel on Red Bull."

"I'm not familiar with Cocker Spaniels. Or Bulls."

The percentage numbers reached 100%. Tony settled on top of the spire of the Empire State Building.

JARVIS said, "My preliminary scans reveal the power went out at five-hundred and thirty-nine Eastern Standard Time this morning. This continued for five minutes and thirty-two seconds."

"Was the cause internal or external?"

"Undetermined without further testing."

Tony contemplated the options. If the power went out on its own, that meant the ART was flawed. If someone or something else tried to tap into his building, then someone was trying to sabotage him. Neither was a good scenario.

**Author's Note: I hope I'm capturing Tony's mindset and interaction with Jarvis. There'll be more action and less exposition in upcoming chapters.**


	3. Chapter 3

Bad Aim Chapter 3

By: Cadet Deming

I don't own the rights to The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for adult language, situations, and violence. Thank you so much to the people who read and review. It's much appreciated and motivating.

**A.I.M. Headquarters**

Clint Barton roamed the empty evening hallways. It seemed peaceful. The hustle and bustle of the day was gone. There were a few scatterings of workaholics in various labs and offices, but overall things had calmed down.

As a SHIELD agent, he had found his assignments alternated between long periods of waiting and short bursts of excitement. He wondered if this place would be any different.

His phone rang and he eagerly answered when he saw it was Natasha Romanoff, his long-time girlfriend.

"Hey Nat, where are you?"

"You know I'm undercover, and can't answer that."

"How was your day?"

"That's classified."

"What time is it where you're located?"

"That's classified."

"What are you wearing?"

"I'm not having phone sex with you when I'm on duty."

"Jesus, give me something to work with here. You know these phones are encrypted."

She sighed. He missed her sigh, her voice, and the rare times she actually smiled. He wanted to say how much he missed her and cut through her veneer of professionalism, but his machismo prevented him.

Natasha said, "I'm sorry. I'm on a tough assignment. It's civil war here in Latveria. I can't tell you anymore, now that you're a civilian."

Insecurity flickered in his brain. They had been through so much together, what if they drifted apart over something as mundane as having different employers?

He wanted to push that out of his mind and tried to say something to cheer her up. "How about when you're finished with whatever it is you can't tell me about, you and I go away on a nice vacation. Somewhere quiet and relaxing, like the Florida Keys, or Martha's Vineyard, or Broxton, Oklahoma?"

"If we can both get the time off. How was your day?"

He deadpanned, "I can't tell you. It's classified. I signed a non-disclosure agreement. I think I signed away my first born child too. That and my soul to Satan."

Clint sensed she was at least smirking, however wryly.

She said, "I miss you."

He smiled because she said it first. They made small talk for a few more minutes and wished each other goodnight.

He put the phone in his pocket and questioned if he envied Natasha and the espionage lifestyle. He had a feeling his new position would entail much more waiting and zero excitement.

Clint took out the iPad that A.I.M. had provided for him and used it to scan the rooms in the building. It linked him to every security camera.

If his eyesight wasn't so sharp, he would have missed that one of the back doors was open a crack. It was just enough to let in a sliver of fluorescent street light. He motioned with his hand on the screen to show a close up.

Squinting, he saw two symmetrical scrapes on the door. They could be normal wear and tear, or they could be signs someone had opened the lock. Clint alerted Bob, the one security guard on duty that he was checking it out.

Clint hesitated between taking the elevator or stairs to the first floor, but decided the stairs wouldn't light up to announce his presence. He walked lightly, and heard footsteps below him. He calculated how many floors beneath him the noise came from.

Clint asked, "Is someone there? Identify yourself please."

Instead of answering, Clint heard the person run and clang a stairwell door open.

His instincts kicked in, and Clint used his crossbow to shoot a grappling hook over the railing. He grabbed the rope and slid down to the level where he heard the door squeak. The rope burnt his hands, as he didn't have gloves on.

He entered a hallway in time to see a man clad in purple and black disappear around a corridor. It reminded him of his old uniform. Clint drew his gun.

He called for backup and turned the corner and bellowed, "This is Clint Barton, Director of Security. Come out or I'll have you arrested!"

A shot rang out, and Clint narrowly jumped to avoid it. A dart landed in the wall behind him.

Clint bluffed, "We have you surrounded. Surrender now, with your hands over your head."

The man stepped out of the shadows. He appeared to be about 6'2", and wore body armor. Half of his face was concealed by a mask-like visor.

Clint asked, "Who are you?"

The man said, "If I wanted people to know who I was, I wouldn't be wearing a mask, would I?"

"The police will find out."

"Paladin. Just call me Paladin."

"Who are you working for?"

"Whoever pays me the most. Do you even know who you're really working for? Because I don't think they'd want you to be bringing in the police."

Clint pegged him as a mercenary. "You're breaking and entering, and you took a shot at me. I think it's obvious who law and order will side with."

Paladin said, "Relax. I only shot at you with a tranquilizer dart."

There was something cocky about Paladin's stance. It wasn't like he was surrendering at all. He said, "You said we, but you're the only one here."

"The cavalry is coming."

Paladin smiled too much for Clint's taste. He smelled burning and the room filled up with smoke. Clint's eyes were technological, so they didn't water like a normal person's would. He switched his sight to infared and tried to muddle through the chaos.

He pointed his gun in front, but Paladin managed to grab him from behind and disarm him. He caught Clint in a chokehold and growled in his ear, "It's your turn to answer my questions. Where is the Draken-X?"

Clint said, "I don't know what that is, and I wouldn't tell you if I did, asshole."

"Asshole? Was that professional? I'm just doing my job."

"So am I."

Clint twisted him over onto his back. He expected him to stay down, but his opponent flipped back onto his feet and knocked him off balance. Clint crashed to the ground. He kicked at Paladin, but he moved to avoid it.

Clint grabbed his gun and pointed it at Paladin. At the same time the mercenary pointed his stun gun in his face. They both panted.

Paladin asked, "Out of professional curiosity, how the hell could you see in smoke with bare eyes?"

Clint grinned, "Technology. Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

"Years of Jiujitsu. And watching Jason Statham movies."

"Are we supposed to bow to each other now and say we've met a worthy opponent?"

"I bow to no one. Unless they pay me enough."

Clint tried sizing him up, but it was hard with half of his face covered. He hesitated before asking, "What is Draken X?"

"You really don't know, do you? It's doom in a bottle."

"Doom for who?"

A gunshot whizzed past Clint's shoulder. Security Guard Bob called out, "I'm here boss!"

Another ball of smoke exploded. This time Paladin disappeared successfully. The only thing he left behind were more questions.

**To be continued**


	4. Chapter 4

Bad Aim Chapter 4

By: Cadet Deming

I don't own the rights to The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for adult language, situations, and violence. Thank you so much to the people who read and review. It's much appreciated and motivating. I'm sorry I took longer to update, but I had real world issues taking me away from writing.

**A.I.M. Headquarters**

Clint Barton told Dr. Rappaccini, "I want to know what Draken X is."

He searched her face for an expression of some emotion, but she was unreadable. "That's above your security clearance."

"I'm the Director of Security here and you're telling me it's above my security clearance? How am I supposed to protect this place if I don't know what I'm protecting?"

She drank from her cup of coffee like a cat lapping at a saucer of milk. "Did you have this attitude to your employers at SHIELD? You don't have a need to know."

A.I.M. was very different from SHIELD. At least there, no matter how ruthless their methods, he knew he was on the side of morality and order. He was developing more doubts about this place.

Clint said, "I've always had an attitude and I have a want to know."

She tossed her hair and sighed. "This is all confidential, understand?"

"Of course."

"Draken X is a potential AIDS vaccine. You can see how something like that could be very profitable, and why we have to be careful about corporate espionage and potential sabotage."

Clint squeezed the end of one of his special arrows. It was a nervous tick he developed when he was mulling things over.

He stared at her, looking for signs she was lying. Her explanation seemed plausible enough. Clint rationalized that he shouldn't trust a mercenary who broke in to his company over his own boss.

He said, "Ok. We need more security guards at night, and better training for them. I don't want to get anyone in trouble, but Bob messed up."

"Do you know how hard it is to find security guards with a Master's Degree?"

"I'll take competence and street smarts over a college's stamp of approval."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'll authorize hiring more guards, but they must pass A.I.M.'s criteria. I suggest you track down who hired this Paladin person instead of questioning me. Please know your place in the hierarchy here. This is not up for further discussion. You may go now, and return my coffee cup to the cafeteria please. "

He thanked her, digging his nails into his palms. He could deal with being treated like a soldier, but not a servant.

Clint backhanded the coffee cup into a wastebasket. He heard the ceramic break.

A few A.I.M. personnel stared at him as he grabbed lunch. He bypassed coffee or anything that might have caffeine in it. The chicken soup was the only thing that seemed calming.

Clint scanned the lunch room. It was filled with the corporate world's equivalent of high school cliques, with the engineers at one table, the mid-level executives at another, and the accountants all sitting together. Bob was standing in a corner, "guarding" the salad bar.

He didn't see any familiar faces, so he left and locked himself in an empty office. He dialed Natasha. She picked up on the second ring.

He asked, "Could you do me a huge favor and run SHIELD's file on a mercenary named Paladin?"

"Am I your 'friend on the force' that you use for information now?"

"I'm not using you. I'll owe you one."

She agreed and he recounted the events of the last night. He didn't mention Rappaccini's excuse that they were dealing with an AIDS vaccine.

Natasha said, "Paladin's kind of a merc with morals. He doesn't kill civilians and he uses non-lethal force if needed. His last known employer was Silver Sablinova. She runs Silver Sable International, which is based out of Symkaria. Interesting."

"What's interesting?"

"Symkaria is right next to Latveria. It's just South of the Draken River."

"Draken spelled D-R-A-K-E-N?"

"Yeah."

"This could be the world's biggest coincidence, but I'm starting to wonder if the Latverian civil war and my break in might be connected."

**STARK TOWER**

Pepper Potts answered her business phone. She sometimes wished she could turn her phone off and work undistracted, but she needed to be "plugged in" at all times.

"Hello, this is Christine Everhart of the Daily Bugle. Is Tony available?"

Pepper frowned. Christine was the last woman Tony slept with before he committed to her. The women had clashed before when she was still a reporter for Vanity Fair.

Pepper sighed. "Mr. Stark is not available, and as acting CEO of Stark Industries, any questions should be directed to me."

Christine said, "Oh yes. I read about that. Congratulations on your long horizontal climb to the top."

Pepper had an uphill battle with people believing Tony only promoted her because she was his girlfriend. It was difficult enough being one of the few Fortune 500 Company female CEO's, and her relationship with Tony seemed more like a hindrance than an asset in getting people to take her seriously..

Pepper didn't want to let this woman get under her skin. "If you don't mind, I have an appointment starting in five minutes."

"I just have one quick question," Christine said. "Why did the power go off last night in your tower? Is there something wrong with your technology?"

Pepper took a deep breath and recited the stock excuse, "That was a routine training exercise."

"Do you expect the people of New York to believe that? What energy corporation has training exercises?"

"We were testing our system. If you have further questions, please speak with our public relations department."

"One more question, off the record. Woman to woman, do you honestly believe that a world-class womanizer like Tony Stark is going to stay faithful to you?"

It was a question Pepper had asked herself multiple times. She wanted to believe that Tony was loyal, but it was very difficult for people to truly change. She certainly wasn't going to confide in Christine of all people about that.

"Off the record: No comment. On the record, if you harass me or my company again, expect a lawsuit. Have a nice day."

Pepper hung up the phone, and tried not to be rattled.

**To be Continued**

**Author's Note: Latveria and Symkaria are both fictional countries that only appear in the Marvel Universe.**


	5. Chapter 5

Bad Aim Chapter 5

By: Cadet Deming

I don't own the rights to The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for adult language, situations, and violence. Thank you so much to the people who read and review. It's much appreciated and motivating.

**A.I.M. Headquarters**

Carmilla buzzed Clint Barton, "Clint, could you please come down to the front desk? We have a security issue."

Clint travelled to the foyer.

Carmilla blocked the entry of a tall man dressed in a forest green suit and wearing a black ski mask. The suit was tightly tailored in the manner of European clothing as opposed to baggy American cuts. His cuffs were monogrammed with the initials: "VVD".

Clint was instantly suspicious of anyone who wore a mask in 71 degree weather, let alone someone who wore it indoors.

Carmilla introduced him, "Clint Barton, this is Doctor Victor Von Doom. He has an appointment, but he refuses to take his ski mask off."

She whispered in Clint's ear, "And I don't think he's playing with a full deck. Not in a neurotic New Yorker way, but in a psychotic referring to himself in the Third Person kind of a way."

Clint said, "I'm sorry sir, but for security reasons, I can't allow you to enter if you don't remove the mask."

Von Doom said, "Doom does not follow the orders of underlings. Doom wears what he pleases. I came all the way from Latveria for an appointment with your CEO. Let me pass or rue the consequences."

His accent sounded Eastern European, and his voice was a baritone. It deepened whenever he said "Doom," as if he was in love with his own name.

Clint braced when he mentioned Latveria. He was curious if the man had any connection to Draken X. He still didn't appreciate being insulted and threatened by this pompous ass.

Clint said, "These are the rules. You can't get in wearing a mask."

A trio of A.I.M. workers in bright yellow bee-keeper uniforms and fully-shrouded face masks walked by in the background.

Doom gestured to them. "You were saying?"

Clint said, "That's different. They passed a security check."

"Do you think I would have been invited here, had I not passed Dr. Rappaccini's background research?"

Carmilla straightened up when he mentioned Rappaccini's name. She said, "Your eyeball still isn't in our system."

Doom hissed, "Silence, you impudent child."

Carmilla said, "Child? I'm over 18 buddy. Do you know who my mother is?"

Doom said, "Doom is not your buddy. Show Doom the respect due to your elders and betters, you American whelp."

Clint sighed, "Can we please solve this like sane people? I can let you put the mask back on inside, but I need to see your face and photo ID to verify your identity. We can go someplace private if that makes you more comfortable. And no, I'm not hitting on you."

Doom crossed his arms and glared at Clint. He stared down his nose at him.

Finally he said, "Very well then. But I want her fired."

Carmilla frowned.

Clint led Doom to the nearest men's restroom. He had a newfound respect for airport workers. They must have to deal with things like this every day.

Doom handed Clint his passport. He paused for a moment, and peeled the mask from his head. Clint could see why he kept himself covered.

The skin on his face was marked with scars. Not the mere healed over cuts of knife wounds, but the melted tissue of third degree burns. He looked like Freddie Krueger or a radiation survivor.

Clint looked at the passport picture. It was unscarred, and although as a straight male Clint wasn't used to acknowledging other men's good looks, he had been shockingly handsome. The bone structure between the man in the photo and the man standing in front of him was the same, as well as the eyes. They were a chestnut shade of brown, with the same look of determination blazing through. He noted that his neck, hands and lower arms were completely unscarred.

Clint saw that the passport was stamped with visits to Symkaria, Germany, Great Britain, and the United States. He returned it to Doom. Doom stared wistfully at his old reflection and closed the passport.

He felt guilty about exposing Victor's deformity. It must be horrible to go through life looking like this, but it must be an even crueler fate to have once been one of the beautiful people.

Clint said, "I'm sorry. I had no idea. How did it happen?"

"An accident. Like so much in life. Man plans, and accidents happen."

"My girlfriend got scarred up pretty badly not too long ago. A plastic surgeon was able to fix it. I can give you his number, if you want."

"Don't you dare pity me. I am not so vain as to turn to surgery and Western Medicine."

Clint suspected he was lying about vanity, or he wouldn't be wearing a mask. Perhaps he just wanted to fit in? Doom seemed too grandiose to fade into the background though.

He put his mask back on and said, "Take me to my appointment. Doom has spoken."

Clint led him to Dr. Rappaccini's office, silently counting the ways he missed working for SHIELD.

**STARK TOWER**

Tony faced the crowd of engineers and tech workers testing the ARC Reactor technology. He felt Pepper's presence beside him before he saw her.

She asked, "What are the results?"

Stanley Lieber, the Vice-President of Research and Development said, "The ARC Reactor is working just fine. Something or someone temporarily tapped into and diverted the power."

Tony considered all of the possibilities and nuances. He was relieved that his pet project worked correctly, but felt like he was also under attack. "Are we looking at sabotage?"

Pepper sighed.

Stanley said, "It could be simple theft, or an attempt to reverse engineer your product, or someone with a grudge. Do you have any enemies?"

Pepper suppressed a laugh. He could tell it came from nervousness as opposed to humor. Tony could use a dosage of humor now, but even he was at a loss for quips.

His inventions were like the children he never had. Hearing that someone was trying to steal them was like a Mother Bear finding someone trying to steal her cubs.

Tony said, "Do I have any enemies? Oh, let me see. Everyone who's ever envied me. Every business competitor. The U.S. Military hates me for not sharing the Iron Man technology with them. I did blow up an enemy Chitaurian starship, which means I've got enemies from different galaxies. Every woman I ever had a one night stand with that I didn't respect in the morning. God, this is worse than when I had syphilis and had to call every woman I ever slept with."

Pepper flashed him a warning glare.

Tony said, "I'm clean now, honest."

Pepper said, "We'll talk about it later. The important thing is what we can do now to proactively protect ourselves?"

Tony said, "It's time to bring in a little help from my friends. I'm bringing SHIELD in."

**Central Park**

Clint Barton tried to multitask by eating his Grilled Chicken Panini Wrap and call Natasha. His instincts didn't trust his own employers enough to call from work.

He said, "Hey, are you busy?"

Natasha said, "I'm always busy, you know that. But I'm in the middle of boring surveillance work. What's up?"

"I'm sure you're an expert on all things Latverian by now. What can you tell me about Dr. Victor Von Doom?"

The phone was eerily silent.

"Natasha? Are you still there?"

"Are you kidding around? Seriously, are you?"

"Uh, no. He came into A.I.M. headquarters two hours ago and said he was Latverian. It could be a stretch, but I just wanted to see if you knew anything about him."

"It's impossible for you to have seen him two hours ago?"

"Why? Is he supposed to be dead?"

Natasha said, "No he's alive. And I'm looking right at him here in Latveria."

**To Be Continued**

**Author's Note: I've toned down Dr. Doom's character a little bit from the comics, and I'm going to tweak him to fit the more realistic Marvel Cinematic Universe. Characters who SPEAK IN ALL CAPS KNEEL BEFORE THE GLORY OF DOOM. DAMN YOU RICHAAAARDSSS! are fine for comics, but can be overbearing to read in regular fiction. I'm also not really using the much maligned Julian McMahon version from the 20****th**** Century Fox Fantastic Four Movies (although I love Julian McMahon as an actor). **


	6. Chapter 6

Bad Aim Chapter 5

By: Cadet Deming

I don't own the rights to The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for adult language, situations, and violence. Please read and review. It's very motivating.

**Central Park**

Clint clutched the phone tighter as he spoke with Natasha. "What does your version of Doctor Doom look like?"

Natasha said, "He covers himself in public, but in private his face is scarred up."

Clint thought about how or why there would be two deformed versions of the same man.

He pondered out loud, "Is it possible there are two Dr. Dooms? Maybe he has a body double for safety, like Middle Eastern dictators? Or a Life Model Decoy?"

"Only SHIELD has those."

"Technology is moving pretty fast. SHIELD may not have a monopoly on LMD's. The one I met seemed pretty human. Maybe yours is the fake."

Clint remembered Doom's eyes. They were all too human.

Natasha said, "I've been tracking mine for a week. His actions seem pretty normal, other than referring to himself as Doom like some lame 1960's comic book villain."

"Yeah, mine does that too. Who the hell is this guy?"

"According to his biography, he's the leader of the Gypsies, aka the Romas in the civil unrest. Latveria has been split between Slavs, Romas, and Muslims for centuries. He claims he's from a long line of Gypsy witches on his mother side, and his father was an herbalist."

"An herbalist? Is that Latverian for pot dealer?"

She laughed, "Actually, his father was arrested for heroin smuggling. His mother was busted for fraudulent fortune-telling. You wouldn't know it from how he carries himself. He says he's going to lead the Roma to independence from the decadent West and fallen East. Fury thinks he's a dictator in the making if he takes power. He's suspected of being a terrorist. I'm trying to find proof."

Clint liked the feeling that he and Nat were still working together like old times. "Thanks for the info. Do you have to kill me now because I know too much?"

"If it was anyone but you, yes."

He grinned, "Aww, you say the sweetest things Nat. I'll keep you posted if you return the favor."

"Ditto." she said. "It's true what they say. No one ever really leaves SHIELD."

**STARK TOWER**

Nick Fury rested his feet on Tony's table. He puffed from a large cigar. "I knew it'd be a matter of time before you came crawling back to SHIELD."

Tony repressed the urge to go on a rant. He hated asking for help. He loathed catering to the egos of other men. But he had to do this.

To the side, Captain Steve Rogers grinned in his quiet unassuming way.

Tony said, "I'm not crawling. I'm asking for help from an old friend. My company is in trouble here. And what's bad for me is bad for the Avengers."

Fury stretched his arms behind his head. "I'd love to help, but I've had my budget and staff cut in half. The Avengers are yesterday's news. People are fickle. They loved us before, but now that there's no alien invasion, they want someone to sue, or at least blame."

Tony felt covered in vulnerability. He hated that feeling. It wasn't a coincidence that his most famous invention, the Iron Man armor was a shell. A shell to pretend he was invincible. Invincible, instead of a scared overgrown man-child on the brink of losing his company to saboteurs and thieves.

He covered the desperation in his voice the best he could. "Can you spare a few people? Just enough to do a high tech sweep, some extra eyes, a little extra security? Please? I'm saying please here. I'll owe you. I can share. We'll share technology. It'll be just like Kindergarten, but with more facial hair."

Fury puffed on his cigar and tapped the ashes onto a sculpture. The sculpture was probably worth more than a year of Fury's salary, but Tony didn't correct him as he was afraid to get on his bad side.

Fury seemed to be enjoying himself. "OK. I'll want more info on your Repulsor technology. And let's say I need to hold a fundraiser for ranking members of the Senate's Finance or Appropriations Committees, the people with the purse strings. I can count on you to be generous with your name and resources, right?"

Tony said, "Done, done and done. Cap is a witness, and we all know he never lies."

Steve and Fury exchanged a look.

Fury said, "Good. I'll see what I can do. Where's your bathroom?"

"There are eight of them. Just keep walking and you'll find one."

Fury put his cigar out on the sculpture and left the room.

Steve sat down in his place. He picked up the cigar and said, "I can't believe these things turned out to cause cancer and people still smoke them."

He flipped the cigar into a proper wastebasket.

Tony poured himself a drink and sat down next to Steve. "Fury is planting bugs in my penthouse as we speak, isn't he?"

Steve stared to the side. "I can't betray a senior officer."

Tony stared at him. He didn't understand Steve. He didn't thrive on attention. He didn't appear to have any vices. He did the right thing no matter how self-sacrificing it was. His only flaw was his awkwardness from being frozen for decades.

Tony's father had been in "The War" with him and talked about him like he was the paragon of manly virtue. Steve was like the older brother that Tony was compared to, but could never measure up to.

Tony asked, "Can I get you a drink?"

"No thanks. I don't drink. Unless it's water. Or Alligator-Aid."

"That's Gatorade. Of course you wouldn't touch alcohol."

"I can drink it, but a side-effect of the Super-Soldier Serum is I can never get drunk again."

Tony frowned at the thought. "Damn. You're in Hell. Not being able to get drunk is worse than...being celibate."

Tony shuddered. He poured Steve the Gatorade. It was the Glacier Freeze blue color that matched Steve's star-spangled uniform.

Steve swallowed it all in one gulp. He put the glass on a coaster and said, "It's not really my place, and I know you and I don't know each other that well outside of the Avengers, but do you think that it might be possible you're turning to alcohol a little too much?"

Tony said, "You're right. It's not your place. Not everyone can be as superhuman and flawless as you. If I was going to have an intervention, they could have at least sent my real friends."

Steve stood up, "I'm not perfect and never said I was. I was trying to help."

"I don't need your help. Do I look like I need your help?"

"The entire reason you're here is to ask for help."

"I asked for SHIELD and Nick Fury's help, not yours. Why are you even here? Why are you still with SHIELD? Don't they have any wars they can ship you out to be America's golden poster boy for?"

"There are always wars."

"So go fight one now and get the hell out of my apartment."

Fury said, "Is there a problem here gentlemen?"

He stood in the hallway like a stern taskmaster, arms crossed and one eye glaring.

Steve and Tony exchanged a look.

Tony said, "I'm fine. Thanks for coming out today Nick."

Fury nodded and walked towards the door.

Steve muttered to Tony, "I don't know how Pepper puts up with you."

"At least I can get women. Lots of them."

"I may not be the most experienced guy when it comes to girls, but I can tell you one thing: None of them like being part of lots."

"Taking advice from you about women is like taking advice from…oh never mind. You're so clueless any pop culture reference I'd make would be over your head."

Steve slammed the door behind him so hard an alarm went off. Tony fumbled with the code to silence it.

He went back to his bar and poured a glass of Scotch from a decanter. He stared at the glass in one hand and the decanter in the other. He put the glass on the bar and drank directly from the decanter, trying to drown all of his sorrows from the inside out.

**To be continued **


	7. Chapter 7

Bad Aim Chapter 6

By: Cadet Deming

I don't own the rights to The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for adult language, situations, and violence. Please read and review. It's much appreciated.

**A Gym in Brooklyn**

Clint pummeled a punching bag that Steve Rogers held steady for him. The bag may as well have been anchored in place by an elephant for all it moved.

He felt overheated. The air was stagnant, broken only by the occasional relief of a rotating fan. There were more upscale gyms to practice in, but Steve said he preferred this low key one. He seemed more comfortable when they weren't surrounded by technology.

Steve asked, "Are you happy at your new job?"

Clint tried to wipe a bead of sweat from his face, but it felt odd with his hands covered in boxing gloves.

He half-grimaced at Steve, "I like the money. I don't like pretty much everything else about it. Why do you ask?"

Steve held the bag steady with his right hand only. "Frankly, I'm having my doubts about SHIELD."

Clint hit the equipment, but it didn't swing. Steve's right arm didn't even tense up.

Clint asked, "Doubts about what?"

"I can't tell you. Not exactly."

Clint sighed. He wondered if it had anything to do with Latveria, or something else. "So why bring it up to me?"

"I'm trying to be vague so I'm not betraying any confidentiality. Do you want to switch places?"

Clint shrugged in agreement and gave his gloves to Steve. He held the bag in place for him and braced his legs for the impact. Steve took one swing and Clint felt like the wind was knocked out of him.

Clint said, "Ow."

"Sorry. Let's take a break."

Clint grabbed two bottles of Dasani water from Steve's bag. He saw a bright yellow copy of the book "_Pop Culture for Dummies_" in the knapsack, but chose not to say anything about it. Both men sat on a worn bench.

Steve traced a carving in the bench that stated: "Steve and Penny Forever" and got a wistful expression on his face. He took a draught of the water.

Clint said, "Let's talk around it, since we're manly men and can't say what's really bothering us."

Steve half-smiled. "Everyone shares their feelings about everything now. I miss the repression of the 1940's. I miss a lot of things about the 1940's. Back then everything was black and white. Americans were the good guys and the Nazis were the bad guys. There was no question or shade of grey about it."

"And SHIELD is too grey about something, and possibly fading into black."

Steve took another long draught of water. He looked like he was measuring his next statement carefully.

"It isn't necessarily that it's SHIELD. It's the whole espionage field. I was trained to be a soldier, not a spy. It was clear cut and straightforward who the real enemy was. Now I'm not so sure if we're fighting the right people. Before I was frozen it was the Nazis and Hydra. Now they tell me the Nazis lost and Hydra was completely destroyed. But how does something that big just disappear?"

Clint thought things over. "The dinosaurs were huge and they died out."

"I'm surprised science hasn't found out what killed them off. Science seems to be going too fast on everything else."

"They did figure out what killed the dinos. The theory is asteroids messed up the atmosphere, and the dinosaurs evolved into birds. I heard chickens are the offspring of Tyrannosaurus Rexes."

Steve furrowed his brow. "I'm a Brooklyn boy. I haven't seen too many live chickens in my life. And now whenever I eat one, I'll be thinking of a giant lizard."

Clint remembered his boyhood in Iowa. He had seen far too many chickens and roosters in his youth. He did love the way they tasted when his mother fried them in a deep cooker. The mixture of salty grease, flaky golden crusts, and tender white meat on his tongue was the only positive memory he had of her.

Clint said, "Fried chicken isn't a lizard. It's evolution at its tastiest."

He had certainly evolved from a lonely farm boy in Iowa, to a seasoned Super-agent, to an Avenger, to a Security Director for a multi-national corporation with cybernetically-enhanced eyes.

Steve said, "So evil never dies. It just evolves. If Hydra survived, what could it have evolved into?"

Clint shrugged. "Probably an evil corporation. Let's go a few more rounds."

They returned to the punching bag. Clint zoned out as he struck it over and over. He thought about evolution.

**Stark Tower**

Pepper walked in to the penthouse carrying bags from a corner market. As a CEO she could have hired someone else to carry them for her, but she was so used to handling details on her own she didn't want to relinquish the control of buying her own food to an assistant. Perhaps she had also been an assistant herself for too long.

"Tony, I'm home. Hello?"

He didn't answer. She put the bags on a counter and dialed him on her cell, but it went to voicemail. She frowned. She knew he was scheduled to be in his home lab.

What if he was with another woman now?

Pepper tried not to be paranoid. She put her groceries away and kicked off her shoes. Her bare feet were chilled on the marble floor, but warmed as she stepped onto the carpeting of the bedrooms.

She heard a groan from one of the guest bedrooms. "Grrr…argh."

Pepper hesitated. She braced herself and opened the door. Tony was lying sprawled on his back across the plush comforter. He was fully clothed, but his suit was rumpled and wrinkled.

She rushed to him. "Are you OK?"

He blinked his eyes open. "I'm…argh… I'm good. It's all good. I love you, man. I mean woman. I need an aspirin. I need a whole bottle of aspirin."

He smelled of flop sweat, expensive scotch and cheap cologne. The sides of his face were rough and dark from Five O'clock shadow.

Pepper rushed to a medicine cabinet and grabbed a bottle of Excedrin. She also opened a bottle of Evian for him.

She gave him both and he popped more pills than he should have and chased them with the water. She thought of the word "enabler," given to people who helped others with their addictions. Pepper's own father had been an alcoholic. Perhaps that was one of the reasons she felt so close to Tony. Weren't many women drawn to men who reminded them of their fathers?

He smiled. "Thanks. I couldn't live without you."

She put her arm around his shoulder. "Tony I…how do I put this? I know you've been under stress, but I don't think it's healthy to start drinking again."

"I didn't start drinking again. I never stopped."

"Well, maybe you need to now."

"I can't stop drinking now. I have to…what do I have on my calendar?"

She pulled up his schedule on her phone and flashed to tomorrow. "You have…let me check the next date, and the next, and the next."

He grabbed the phone and looked at it. "Cancelled…postponed…cancelled. Why am I so unpopular now?"

"We've had the company's stock go to hell before and you've come out ok."

"This is different. It feels different. I saved the world before. This isn't supposed to happen to me. Where's my karma? I'm supposed to be popular, dammit. Where's my parade? Where's my gratitude? I'm a Goddamn hero."

She squeezed his arm, trying to be empathetic. She wanted to tell him to grow up, but knew under his devil-may-care persona he was more sensitive than he let on.

"You'll get it back. Being a hero is about doing the noble thing because it's the right thing, not because you expect a reward for it. And you'll have more perspective if you keep your blood alcohol level down."

He rested his head on his hands.

"If you want me to stop drinking, find me something to do so I can pretend I'm still important."

She searched through his emails. "Here's one. That company that Clint Barton joined called A.I.M. asked you for a meeting."

Tony said, "Pencil me in to see them. What harm can it do?"

**To be continued**


	8. Chapter 8

Bad Aim Chapter 8

By: Cadet Deming

I don't own the rights to The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for adult language, situations, and violence. Please read and review. It's much appreciated. Sorry for the longer wait on the update.

**A.I.M. Headquarters**

Clint tried to look as nonchalant as possible as he strode through the hallways of A.I.M. He wasn't as good at outright spying in plain sight of the enemy as Natasha was. He was more used to being the sniper or spotter in the shadows.

More people in yellow beekeeper suits walked through the halls. It frustrated him that he couldn't see their faces to see if they paid him any mind.

Clint feigned casualness when he opened the door to Dr. Rappaccini's office. He locked it behind him and went to her desk.

Her computer was a slim laptop. It was less than 2 inches thick, but could be holding immeasurable wealth and information. Clint had noticed that as technology became more advanced, it also seemed to be getting progressively smaller.

With a gloved hand he turned it on. It was password protected, so he took out one of his arrows. The tip had been modified to crack almost any computer code. He inserted it into an opening and the password area flashed with "x" marks to show it had been cracked.

The A.I.M. network was available to him. Clint typed in a search for Doctor Victor Von Doom. The only entry that came up was a rejection to an employment application from 3 years ago. Clint clicked on it, and it brought up that he was rejected for lying about having a doctorate.

Clint smiled about Doctor Doom not even being a real doctor. It seemed odd that he would be working with A.I.M. now after being turned down for a job here.

Clint focused his attention on the network and entered a search for Draken X. It required another password, so he let his arrowhead work its magic. It pulled up a file on gene bombs. Clint skimmed its contents. He couldn't understand some of the technobabble jargon, but phrases like, "genetic warfare targeting" and "ethnic bioweapon" stood out. He downloaded the information, wondering how quickly he could send it to Natasha.

He thought he sensed movement in the room, but when he zoomed in the only thing he saw was shadow. The thought that he was spying on the company he worked for with the eyes they had given him unsettled him. Could he trust his own eyes?

He searched for artificial sight. It brought up schematics for his eye implants. References were made to classified files. If A.I.M. was a private company, how could it possibly have "classified" files?

Clint waited to crack the password on the additional information. It took longer than usual, but finally opened a section in a foreign language. He identified it as German.

Clint didn't know German, but his eyes went to the word "HYDRA" which was repeated several times. Could "HYDRA" be the same criminal organization that Steve had defeated? How were HYDRA and A.I.M. connected?

Clint copied the data and pulled his arrow-tip out. He heard a crunch and quickly pointed a gun in its direction.

Norbert "Fixer" Ebersol stood behind him, holding a remote control in his hand. His expression seemed glum.

Clint tried to save face. "Oh, hey. Sorry I didn't see you there. Monica told me to make some copies."

Fixer stared at him. "Don't insult my intelligence. Just…don't."

Clint hesitated. He could shoot him, but for all he knew Fixer could be innocent. Bullets could also bring unwanted attention from the rest of the building.

Fixer said, "Please put the gun down, before I have to hurt you."

"No can do."

"I warned you."

Fixer pressed a button on the remote. Searing pain erupted in Clint's body. It felt like being electrocuted from the inside out. He fell over, dropping the gun.

He curled into the fetal position. The pain finally stopped. Humiliating as it was, Clint drooled onto the carpet.

He moaned, "What the hell did you do to me?"

Fixer smiled. "Do you remember those vaccinations I gave you in the beginning? They had nanomites in them. They're microscopic robots that give me control of your nervous system."

"Mind control again? You're using mind control on me?"

Clint flashed back to when he had been under Loki's mind-control. It was like being unmade from the inside out. He thought he would never feel as violated again as when he was forced to work against his will by magic. He couldn't believe it was happening again.

Fixer said, "Again? You've had some tough luck in life. Technically it's more in control of your body. You can choose to resist, but it will be agony. I suggest you stop fighting it."

He picked up Clint's gun and took the bullets out of the chamber.

Clint tried to think of what Natasha would do. SHIELD agents were taught to not get caught, unless that was part of their plan. Being captured was definitely not part of Clint's plan.

He looked at his bag of trick arrows. One contained a tip that could disrupt electronic pulses. He wondered if he could use it to disrupt the nanomites. It rested on the desk, so near and yet too far.

He tried to get Fixer to talk more. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because you're making me, after all we've done for you. You should have just done your job, put in a good word with Tony Stark, and not spied on your own employer. That's just…rude."

Clint sat up, bracing for a shock of pain. Fixer's hand rested on the button, but he didn't press it. He didn't seem to be a sadist like Loki.

Clint asked, "Can I please stand?"

"As long as it isn't near the remote control or your arrows. Who designs them for you?"

Clint stood. His legs still felt wobbly from the earlier burst of pain.

"I design most of them myself, and SHIELD does the rest." He tried bluffing, "SHIELD already knows about what A.I.M. and Doom are doing."

He watched Fixer's expression to see if he touched any nerves. His opponent didn't give anything away.

Fixer asked, "If that were true, you wouldn't still be here. A.I.M sees what you see. We've got our eyes in you. "

Clint squeezed his eyes shut. His own senses had betrayed him to the enemy. He wanted to blind himself, like a character in a Greek tragedy.

Clint was angry, but could only blame himself. He wanted his vision back so much he had sold his soul to a devil corporation, and now the true price was coming out.

He felt Fixer put his hand in Clint's pocket and pulled out the arrowhead with the data.

Clint asked, "Are you going to kill me now?"

"Kill you? And throw away the millions of dollars' worth of cyborg enhancements? You're a walking experimental prototype with Avenger training. You're too valuable. But since you've proved your lack of loyalty we'll have to keep you on a shorter leash."

He waved the remote control in front of Clint as a warning.

Clint tried a last ditch attempt to get more information. "Does A.I.M. really think HYDRA won't screw it over?"

Fixer blinked several times. "You haven't figured it out? A.I.M. is HYDRA. Didn't SHIELD teach you the motto: 'We are HYDRA. Cut off a limb and two more will take its place.' We're one of the limbs that survived."

**To be continued**


	9. Chapter 9

Bad Aim Chapter 9

By: Cadet Deming

I don't own the rights to The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for adult language, situations, and violence. Please read and review. It's much appreciated.

**Latveria**

Natasha Romanoff stared through her window across the street. She watched a castle keep of some sort, converted to be the quarters of Doctor Victor Von Doom.

She checked her watch. Clint hadn't called her in 2 days. She wondered if she should be alarmed. They weren't officially working together or on any set schedule, so it wasn't as if he had missed a call-in checkpoint.

Clint's suggestion that one of them may not be dealing with the real Doctor Doom haunted her. Her previous surveillance wasn't panning out, so she figured it was time to step things up.

Natasha covered her skintight SHIELD issued bodysuit with a local peasant woman's garb. Latveria was a mixture of cultures, most of them poor. Her disguise consisted of a shirt with faded Cyrillic writing and a flowered skirt. She covered her head and face with a paisley scarf to mimic the local Muslim women. The scarf concealed her identity as well as keeping any stray hairs from leaving evidence. She placed her additional SHIELD equipment in a box and hid it under milk bottles.

She stared at her reflection in a mirror. Her stance was confident and primed for action. Natasha allowed her posture to slump and her body language to give off the hopelessness of a woman caught in poverty and surrounded by civil war.

She walked to the rear kitchen door of Doom's quarters and knocked. A man dressed in black answered the door.

Natasha said in Roma, "I am here with the milk delivery."

He eyed her suspiciously. "The milk is not due until tomorrow."

"I am early then."

He looked her up and down. Apparently deeming her harmless, he let her in.

She didn't see anyone else in the kitchen, so she sprayed him with knockout gas. Natasha caught him before he could fall to the ground. The spray made the average victim unconscious for 2 hours.

She dragged him into a nearby pantry. She patted him down for weapons and found a gun. It was more technologically advanced than a normal pistol and had "A.I.M." emblazoned on it. She confiscated it and bound his hands, mouth and feet. She jammed the lock on the pantry door so he wouldn't have an easy exit when he did wake up.

Natasha crept through the halls, planting surveillance equipment in rooms that seemed important and heavily-travelled. New technology rested on aged furniture. Ancient artifacts commingled with cutting edge technology.

She saw men in military uniforms and she adjusted her walk to that of someone who belonged there. She strolled past them and they paid her no mind.

Natasha marched up the circular steps of a stairwell turret. The stone under her feet was well-worn from decades, or perhaps even centuries of use. Cobwebs covered the uppermost corners. She wondered what species of spiders created them. It would be ironic if they were black widows.

She reached the second story and padded over the carpeting. This area seemed more grandiose. The furniture was more elaborate, and colorful tapestries decorated the walls. It looked designed to fit a king, or at least a potential dictator.

One room was guarded by a man in military garb. He shifted the rifle in his arms, but didn't point it at her.

She fluttered her eyelashes and said coyly to the guard, "I have delivery for this room."

He said, "I have no word on this from Dr. Doom."

"Do you want to question Doom's wishes?"

He turned pale and waved her past him. "Go right ahead."

Natasha entered, locking the door behind her. The bedroom was the most sumptuous place she had seen in the castle. It told her a lot about the owner if he let his followers dwell in poverty while he kept the luxury for himself.

The bed was a large four poster covered in gilded metallic paint. A green comforter that looked like heaven to touch enveloped it. The comforter was folded into sharp points and the pillows were completely puffed up. The bed didn't appear to be slept in or used.

Doom sat at a carved desk with various computers and devices. A holographic 3D projection of a globe made up of green and blue lights hovered above it. The lights cast an eerie glow on Doom's face.

For a moment Natasha thought his face was a skull, but it was a metal mask with holes for his eyes and breathing. What little she could see of his face twisted into an expression of malevolence.

He bellowed, "Who dares disturb Doom in his chambers?"

Natasha said in accented Arabic, hoping he couldn't speak the language, "I'm sorry, sir. I was just following orders."

He answered her in perfect Arabic, "Who gave you orders?"

"He did not tell me his name."

Doom stood and strode to her. He was a giant, taller even than Thor or Loki. At least he was taller in the armored suit he covered himself with.

He sneered, "You are a foolish peasant woman. You take orders from a man whose name you do not even know."

"I do not question. I just do as I am told to do."

"Uncover your face."

Her eyes widened in not quite so pretend fear. "I cannot. It is against Islam. My religion forbids it. I do not see you taking off your mask in front of me."

He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close. "Funny, I don't hire any Muslim people. For the same reason that Muslims don't hire Romas and Romas don't hire Slavs and Slavs don't hire Symkarians."

Natasha kicked him in the crotch with all of her might. On a normal man it should have worked and had him doubled over in pain, but his metal armor protected him from head to toe. Natasha felt like her knee was split in two. She tried to run, but her knee was too badly injured.

He tackled her to the ground. "You dare attack me in my own home?! Whoever your master is will pay for this insult."

"I don't have a master, you dolt. Just an employer. And my boss isn't someone you want to tick off."

"I don't tiptoe around the whims of those who dare oppose me."

"If you're hiding inside a suit of armor like a coward, no wonder you can't tiptoe."

He ripped the scarf off of her face. "You insolent little…"

His eyes widened through his mask holes. "I know you. I've seen you before. You're one of those Avengers. You're the Black Widow."

**To be continued**

**Author's note: I initially wasn't going to write any chapters from Natasha's point of view, but due to popular demand I'll include her side of the story.**


	10. Chapter 10

Bad Aim Chapter 10

By: Cadet Deming

I don't own the rights to The Avengers, Marvel and Disney do, so please don't sue. Rated T for adult language, situations, and violence. Please read and review. It's much appreciated.

**New York City**

Tony entered the Bar Room of the 21 Club restaurant. The ceiling was famous in Manhattan for its collection of "toys" hanging from the ceiling. Sports memorabilia and miniature vehicles donated by sport stars and captains of industry covered the top of the room. It was like a Hard Rock Café, but less touristy.

A table near the bar was his favorite spot. A crimson red toy plane with "Stark Industries" hung over the table. It wasn't donated by Tony, but by his father in 1955. Next to it a mini red and gold Iron Man suit glimmered. When management hung the suit up, he felt pride that he was finally as accomplished as his father.

The table was already filled by two people. One was Clint "Hawkeye" Barton. The other he presumed was A.I.M. C.E.O. Dr. Monica Rappaccini. They both rose to greet him.

Tony took his sunglasses off and surveyed the room to see who was watching them.

Clint formally introduced Monica to Tony. As he did so, he looked sullen and stared down at the ground instead of making eye contact. Tony chalked it up to Clint's usual problems with authority.

Monica air-kissed him on both cheeks. Tony felt her cleavage press up against him. He suspected she did it on purpose. Tony was familiar with the little "tricks" women did to attempt to seduce him. Except Tony was never really seduced, he decided which women interested him on his own and he let them think they were hunting him.

Monica said, "Thank you for meeting with me. Although we could have met in each other's offices."

He said, "I like to keep things neutral with new business acquaintances."

That wasn't entirely true. Normally Tony liked taking business contacts back to Stark Tower to show it off. Now he wanted to be seen in public, so any other CEO's or presidents in the room would think he was still busy, still important, and still relevant.

Monica said, "I'm hoping we could be much closer than just acquaintances. I'd love for us to…merge."

Tony said, "Stark Industries has been an independent corporation for decades. Why would I sacrifice that independence now?"

Dr. Rappaccini handed him a folder. "Here is my proposal. It is no secret your company is having a financial crisis. If you allowed A.I.M. to buy out a reasonable percentage of your stock, we can save the Stark name."

Tony opened the folder and speed-read through it. Her proposal gave way too much power to A.I.M.

Tony glanced at Clint, who was unusually silent. His eyes were rapidly darting from left to right. Tony knew the eyes were mechanical and questioned if it was a malfunction.

"I can't save my family name by selling it out. And Stark Industries has had financial hard times before and come out on top. When the ARC Reactor power station can provide all energy on Earth, I'm sure I'll have multiple investors knocking on my door. Can I get a drink? I want a drink. Waiter, can I have a Johnny Walker Red, no ice please?"

Monica smiled. "The ARC Reactor can't even power Stark Tower. Everyone knows about the blackout. Are you getting nervous?"

He didn't like her smile. Smugness was painted on her expression even louder than the scarlet lipstick she wore.

"I'm not nervous." He said: "I always speak at 89 rambling words per minute. And Scotch is my bottled water. And I don't know if I'd even want someone like you as a partner."

"Someone like me? Is it because I'm female?"

"No. I love women. My C.E.O. Pepper Potts is a woman. She'd have the final say on any buyouts."

"Well, take it back to her and you both can think about it. You are surrounded by enemies. You need some more friends. Your friend Clint here can vouch for me."

Clint looked up with guilt on his face. "Uh…yeah…A.I.M. is great. Our employees are all super smart like you."

His voice was robotic and the word "super" seemed unnatural coming from Clint's mouth. Tony figured he was just going along with his Monica's orders. He'd spent most of his life with wealth and as his own boss. It was difficult to get in the mindset of selling out to survive, but he had to swallow his pride and consider it.

The waiter came by with Tony's drink. He downed it as he read through the proposal again.

He said, "I'll take it back to Pepper and get her opinion."

Monica beamed. "Excellent. Listen, I'm having a little get-together at my house in the Hamptons this Saturday. You and Pepper are more than welcome to visit."

Tony needed a party. "OK, we'll be there. That doesn't mean I'm committing yet."

Clint was doing that rapid movement with his eyes again.

Dr. Rappaccini smiled and said, "After the weekend, I'm sure you'll be dying to join us. It was a pleasure meeting you."

She left with a flip of her long dark mane. Clint followed her, not like the hawkish archer Tony had come to know, but like a tamed dog on a leash.

Tony ordered another drink. As he waited, he remembered Clint's eyes. Could the left and right movement be an attempt to signal him "No?"

**Latveria**

Natasha opened her eyes. She was bound to a wooden chair. Her arms and legs were covered in metal chains. She tried to test how heavy and strong they were, but her injured knee acted up.

On the floor, the guard she had tricked into letting her enter lay dead. A stream of blood trickled from his forehead onto the ground. Doom had apparently murdered him for the crime of failure.

Natasha wondered if the man was a voluntary soldier or a civilian recruited against his will. She felt no guilt over murdering career soldiers. They were trained to risk their lives. People pulled into international intrigue over their heads were a different story.

Doom walked to her. His metal boots clanked against the wooden floor. He reminded her of Darth Vader, with his heavy mask and aggressively regal bearing.

He placed a metallic hand under her chin and forced her head up. All she could smell was metal and gunpowder.

He demanded, "Who do you work for?"

"I'm an Avenger. You don't want to fuck with me."

He slapped her face. Her chin went numb.

He said, "Don't use vulgarity in front of me, child."

"But murdering your own people is classy?"

He slapped her again from the other side. Her face throbbed.

He hissed, "Your futile attempts at rebellion will do you no good. You're going to tell me everything about why you're here. Or I will beat it out of you."

Natasha stared up at him. It was going to be a long night.

**To be continued.**


End file.
